“Forgive me,” the man said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” He thrust his hand toward her and shook hers vigorously. “Would you mind if I sat with you for a moment?”
A kind-faced gentleman of middle age, graying hair, and average height came into focus. He wore a green cardigan sweater over a starched white dress shirt and dark slacks. Under one arm he carried a small black notebook, and the tip of a silver pen gleamed from his shirt pocket.
He must want an autograph. Bonnie gave him another long look. He did seem harmless enough, and there were plenty of people around.
“Well,” she said slowly, “I suppose that would be fine.”
“Thank you, Miss Taggart. I assure you I won’t keep you but a moment.”
Bonnie settled back on the bench, and the stranger took a seat next to her, placing the notebook in his lap. “So, are you a fan of the Olympics?” she asked.
The gentleman chuckled. “You could say that.” He paused and his smile faded as he drummed thick fingers over the top of the notebook’s cover. “Actually, I’m a reporter for the local CBS affiliate.” He reached for his pen. “I interviewed Preston Grant a few days ago, just before the race that ended his career. I couldn’t help but wonder why a fellow Olympian comes to the hospital gardens every day but never goes inside to visit her UMass teammate.”
She rose. “If you’ll forgive me, sir, I think I’ll be going.”
“Wait, don’t go.”
This time it was Preston and not the reporter who spoke.
Bonnie whirled around to see the man she loved hobbling toward her on crutches, brother Henri at his side. He seemed somewhat pale, and even from a distance Bonnie could see he must be in considerable pain.
Henri stepped ahead of Preston to take the reporter
by the elbow. “How about writing a story about the nosy reporter who got thrown off hospital property by a patient’s older and wiser brother?”
“But, sir, I assure you I had the lady’s permission to—”
Bonnie watched the pair disappear down the path, then slowly turned her attention to Preston. “Hey, sunshine,” he said with a forced grin.
“Hey,” she responded.
“Long time, no see.” A butterfly flitted between them, and Preston continued to look in its direction long after it
had disappeared into a hedge of flowering hibiscus. Without returning his gaze to Bonnie, he sighed. “But then I guess that’s my fault.”
So many ways to respond. “I guess,” she finally said.
He met her stare and leaned on unsteady legs. “I owe you an apology. I was a real. . .”
Preston’s voice faded as he lurched forward. Bonnie reached him just in time to keep him from landing on the path.
“Here, come and sit down,” she said as she guided him with difficulty to the bench. By the time he managed to settle into a sitting position with his leg extended and the crutches beside him for support, beads of perspiration dotted his face and what little color he possessed was gone.
“You smell nice. Lavender, right?”
“Yes.” Bonnie touched the sleeve of his robe, then quickly pulled her hand away. “It hurts, doesn’t it?”
Preston looked past her and nodded. “I thought I was doing myself a favor numbing the pain. Now I see. . .”
Again she reached for him, this time allowing her fingers to graze the back of his hand before resting on his arm. “No need to say more, sweetheart. I know all about how you trained while you were hurt, how you wanted so bad to make the team that you pushed your body beyond its limits.” She paused, not sure whether to go on. Finally, she added, “About Dell Woods.”
Something akin to pain crossed his handsome features. “I didn’t think taking something to numb the pain was really cheating. I mean, I just didn’t have the luxury of taking time to heal, so I. . .” He shuddered. “You’re so good at what you do—a real natural, sunshine. I never wanted you to know that I wasn’t. Even so, I never took anything illegal. I promise.”
“Oh, sweetheart.” Bonnie’s fingers curled into a fist, gathering up the fabric of his robe. “I understand.”
Sighing, Preston’s gaze locked with hers. “I wish I did.”
Never had she seen Preston like this. Not even their last conversation in the hospital frightened her like this. Then she could blame the anesthesia. Now she had no one but herself to blame. Her Olympic success amplified his Olympic failure.
There was only one remedy for what ailed Preston Grant. Thankfully, the cure was within her grasp and easily done.
“Preston,” she said softly, “I love you more than anything in this world except the Lord Himself. You know that, don’t you?” When he nodded, she continued. “Then it’s settled. If you’re not going to Rome, then neither am I.”
~
Preston forced himself to meet her gaze but couldn’t quite muster a smile to match hers. “That’s ridiculous. You’re going to Rome, and that’s all there is to it.”
Bonnie’s smile sagged at the corners. “But I don’t understand. I love you. I can’t possibly go to the Olympics without you.” She reached for his right hand and entwined her fingers with his. “There, it’s settled. So why don’t we talk about something else? Say, what about that new fifty-star flag we’ve got now? Isn’t it something?”
Stars and flags were the least of his concerns. Getting Bonnie to Rome was all that mattered. Forces out of his control had changed Preston’s Olympic goal. Bonnie’s, however, was still within her grasp. She might not realize it now, but if she gave it up for him, she would grow to resent it—and him.
And that was no way to begin a marriage.
Marriage. Preston once again studied the bright pink blooms of the shrubs and thought of spending the rest of his life with Bonnie Taggart. Bonnie Taggart Grant, he mentally corrected. Yes, the idea still held great appeal.
In fact, it was the only thing in his life that still did outside of the Lord. He couldn’t mess that up, too, not like he’d messed up his shot at going to Rome.
The pink flowers swayed in the breeze. Pink. The first time he met Bonnie she’d been wearing that color. She’d bowled him down that day, and to some extent, she still did every time he saw her.
Preston’s mind jerked back to the present. Bonnie was staring, searching his face. She wanted his approval for her idiotic plan to drop out of the Olympics. He had to do something. He didn’t intend to shout, and yet when he found the words to answer Bonnie’s statement, they erupted with such force that all his strength left with them.
“Stop it, Bonnie. You are going to Rome, and I’m not going to listen to another word of protest on the matter. You and I worked too hard to fall short of your goal. Don’t you understand that’s what it’s always been about?”
Bonnie’s lower lip quivered as the color drained from her face. Slowly she released her grip and brought her fingers up to cover her mouth. A lone tear fell, and with it Preston felt his heart break. With a silent prayer for strength, he pressed on with the words he hoped would send Bonnie to Rome, knowing they could very well cause him to lose her in the process.
“Why are you crying? Winners don’t cry.”
She lowered her hand to her side as another tear rolled down her cheek. “But I thought. . .”
Preston struggled to his feet, ignoring the pain in his ankle as well as in his heart. Someday when Bonnie stood on the platform to receive the gold medal she deserved, she would thank him for releasing her to follow her dream. Someday, but from the looks of her, not today.
“You thought what, Bonnie? That I spent all that time training with you for a reason other than to see you go to the Olympics?”
“I don’t care about winning races. I care about you. About us.” She paused. “We made a promise to each other. I thought you loved me,” she said in a whisper that barely traveled the distance between them.
“I do. That is, I did. What I mean is. . .”
His voice faltered, and he looked away
as he held on tight to his crutches. Nothing in his life had ever been as hard as this. Selfishness and pride made him want to gather her into his arms and hold her until the rest of the world with all its problems disappeared. Logic and love caused him to press on.
“Sunshine, have you ever thought that maybe God gave you this talent so you could go win races?”
Again she captured his gaze—and his heart. “But I just can’t go without you.”
Preston closed his eyes. Lord, You know how much I love her. Please don’t let her see how difficult this is for me.
A wave of nausea hit him hard. If he stayed another moment, he might not make it back to his room without help. The thought of Bonnie witnessing his humiliating weakness brought him directly to the point. “Go to Rome, Bonnie,” he said, clenching his jaw. “Who knows? We just might see each other there. Now leave before I call security.”
“But, Preston, I—”
“Remember that day outside Setzer’s? If you could move that fast in pink high heels, nothing can stop you on the track in Rome, so stop pretending you can’t do it.”
“But I’m not pretending,” she said in a shaky voice. Her shoulders sagged and her lower lip quivered. As she brought her fingers up to capture a tear, Preston longed to hold her once more, to kiss away the pain he’d brought her.
“Will you just go, Bonnie? I don’t know how much plainer I can make things for you.” Preston fought another wave of nausea by leaning against the arbor’s wooden frame. “You’re a runner, so go. Run.”
With that, he turned and hobbled as far as the hospital entrance before collapsing into an empty wheelchair. As a nurse scurried toward him, Preston cast a glance over his shoulder to watch the only woman he’d ever loved disappear down the garden path and quite possibly out of his life forever. Oh, Lord, why did You let this happen to me? You alone know how badly I want to be with her in Rome. Please, do something—anything!
“Say, aren’t you Preston Grant?”
The reporter Henri had supposedly sent packing had returned and now elbowed his way past the nurse to kneel beside the wheelchair. Before Preston could protest, the man shoved a business card into his hand and rose.
“Call me, young fellow. I just spoke to my boss, and we might have a business proposition for you.”
Chapter 9
August 24, 1960
Preston looked up from his script to watch the lighting crew work. In a few hours, dawn would break and he would begin a whole new day—and a new life as a reporter for CBS. The trek from injured athlete to rookie reporter had been a swift one. It seemed as though he’d barely been released from the hospital before the local CBS affiliate’s general manager had him on the phone with an offer to represent the station. Preston suspected Tom’s father had something to do with the offer, but neither Tom nor his dad would admit to it.
Standing to stretch the kinks out of his shoulders, he gingerly took a few steps across the empty track. As he picked up his pace, he let his mind roam free, chasing dreams and memories of Bonnie Taggart and an Olympic goal he’d exchanged for a much more exhilarating goal—being the husband of an Olympian.
Before he realized what had happened, Preston was running for the first time since the trials in July. And it felt good—really good.
He rounded the turn and sprinted toward the finish line, imagining what it would be like to actually compete. Funny how he couldn’t manage nearly as much enthusiasm for the dream as he once had. Instead, he began to think about Bonnie.
He’d battled within himself as to whether to tell Bonnie he would be in Rome, after all. Once he made the decision to take the CBS job, he’d gone back to his apartment and picked up the phone to call her only to realize he had no idea where to find her. Her mother might have been of help, as would the coach at UMass, but he knew if he found Bonnie, he’d never be able to wait until they met in Rome to see her again.
When he saw her, it had to be special—as special as she was to him. He’d been such a selfish fool, thinking of himself instead of Bonnie. Henri’s story of losing a girl to pride had stuck with him, and he prayed that God would help him make his situation right, as He had with Henri.
As the days passed, a plan began to formulate, and Preston could only pray that the plan came from God. It just had to.
He’d made too many arrangements to have them fail now. He’d had plenty of time to think about his selfish pride and what life was like without Bonnie Taggart. No, he had a ring in his pocket and the Lord on his side. Nothing short of the Lord’s intervention could get in his way.
Preston sailed over the tangle of lighting cords and past the shiny hulk of the CBS camera, guarding his tender ankle as he landed. To his delight, the pain that had persisted over the past weeks was gone. Another answered prayer! At this rate, he just might consider another run for the Olympic team. As Mom had told him on more than one occasion,
he was still a relatively young man, and 1964 would come around before he knew it. Running the hurdles was out. His busted ankle would never hold up under the stress of the repeated landings on the track.
No, lately he’d begun to think he might enjoy running on a relay team. After all, he’d trained with a relay runner. Why not consider becoming one, too?
He laughed out loud and picked up speed. The idea was nothing more than a crazy dream. God had him pegged as a journalist who happened to know how to run. His Olympic goal for 1964 was to go to the games as a paid employee of CBS and not a volunteer intern. Tom’s dad had as much as indicated there was a job waiting for him at the network in New York when he returned from Rome.
The idea of a steady income and continued involvement in the sports world held a certain appeal. It would also go a long way toward buying that little place in the suburbs that he and Bonnie would fill with love and little Grants.
Again he had to laugh. What a life he had ahead of him. “Thank You, Lord, for all Your blessings. One more lap, and I’ll come to my senses and go back to work.”
Just one more lap.
In the meantime, he went over the details of his plan. Tomorrow morning, the teams would march into the stadium in the opening ceremonies, and he planned to be there, micro-phone in hand. His first interview would be a pretty track-and-field runner named Bonnie Taggart, and the first thing he would ask her was to be his—
He never saw the freshly laid television cable until his foot caught beneath it. Preston went flying face-first toward the ground. As he landed, he heard a snap.
After that, everything went black.
~
Bonnie’s vision blurred as she swiped at the tears rolling down her face. Six weeks after saying good-bye to Preston, and she still couldn’t get him out of her mind—or her heart. She toyed with the pink ribbon still around her neck. How many times had she removed the silly thing only to put it right back on again?
To think he might have found an interest in her simply because of some athletic talent they shared was beyond belief. When she left California, she had been absolutely certain Preston would call within the week. When that week went by, then another, she’d begun to wonder. Now she sat in her flat at the Olympic Village on a beautiful August morning still wondering.
Tomorrow she would take part in the opening ceremonies of the Seventeenth Olympiad, and mere days after that she would compete. Already she’d met the young American boxer Cassius Clay, Crown Prince Constantine of Greece, and an Ethiopian bodyguard who planned to run his races barefoot, among others. Bonnie sighed. Even among the most interesting of competitors, she barely managed to think of anything or anyone but Preston Grant.
“Still fretting about that Grant fellow?”
Bonnie jumped. “Martha. I didn’t hear you come in.”
Martha smiled and sank onto her bed as she allowed her pocketbook to fall to the floor. “I guess not. You’re so busy pining away you don’t even realize you’re missing what could be the most exciting experience of your life.”
“I suppose.�
�� She curled her feet beneath her and rested her head in her hands. “I can’t help it. I just want to go home.”
Martha shifted from her bed to Bonnie’s and draped her arm around Bonnie. “I know you want to go home, but right now, I believe God wants you here.” She paused to offer a broad smile. “Or at least I do. Now how about you quit your moping, and let’s get out there and see what we’re missing? It isn’t every day two small-town girls get to go see the sights in Rome.”
“See the sights?” Bonnie shook her head. “But we’re not supposed to leave the village without letting our chaperone know.”
Martha rose and crossed her arms over her chest. “I happen to have it on good authority that our chaperone’s busy having breakfast with Crown Prince Constantine’s mother and will be busy for at least three hours. I’ll be glad to explain our little visit to town just as soon as she’s available. Now, do you want to see the Pantheon or not?” She offered a conspiratorial grin. “I promise to have you back before lunch.”
“Oh, all right,” Bonnie said as she gathered her purse and stuffed her Brownie camera inside. “I suppose a little sightseeing wouldn’t hurt.”
“That’s the spirit.” Martha linked arms with Bonnie and led her out into the hallway. “Speaking of hurting, did you hear about the fellow from CBS who got injured early this morning?”
Bonnie shook her head. “No, what happened?”
“Well, I heard the guy was running around in the dark like a fool and tripped over a cable laid across the track. Broke his leg, I believe, or maybe it was his ankle. Some reporter, I think.” She shrugged. “Have you ever heard of such a thing? And I thought being an athlete was dangerous.”
“Is he going to be all right? The reporter, I mean.”
“Oh, he’ll probably just get sent home to recuperate.” She stopped short and turned to face Bonnie. “Say, how about you and I offer up a little prayer for that poor fellow before we hit the town?”
“Good idea,” Bonnie said. “Did you happen to catch his name?”
Olympic Goals Page 6